


And Then Comes the Hard Part

by BettyLouAwesome



Category: RedLetterMedia RPF
Genre: Characters are Bad at Communication, Dry Humping, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minesweeper Dubcon, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyLouAwesome/pseuds/BettyLouAwesome
Summary: Mike/Jay pretty much get right down to it. So that should be it, right? They got each other off so now its happily ever after. Right?...Right?
Relationships: Mike/Jay
Comments: 15
Kudos: 25





	And Then Comes the Hard Part

**Author's Note:**

> Half in the Bag universe characters. Author makes no assertions to know anything about anyone ever in the whole wide world, especially as to how it relates to Mike & Jay. Also, author fully admits she is trash. Welcome precious trash babies.

"I can't pull it out!"

"You _have_ to pull it out."

"No, no, no," Jay's hands were balled up over his face and he was laughing so hard he was in danger of falling over. He stumbled into the side of the sofa, and he doubled up in a giggle fit.

"Jay chrissakes its not-" Mike reached over and tugged the sofa bed with one arm- it stayed stuck, and Jay threw his head back in laughter. "Ok… well…" Mike choked down a chuckle. They were both drunk and slap-happy from staying up and watching too many terrible movies in a row. Jay was in no condition to drive home, and was apparently not even in a good condition to pull a bed out of a sofa. Mike reached over and tried to pull again with both hands, to no avail, and Jay laughed so hard he was red in the face and holding his stomach. 

"You can't - you can't- you can't-" he couldn't breathe. 

"Jay give me a hand you shit!" Mike giggled. 

"Ok! Ok!" Jay took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, and walked over. "Ok." Jay tugged the sofa bed with all the composure he could muster. 

"At the same time as me, idiot!" 

And the composure went out the window! The both of them had to stop their task to make room for the frenzy of hysteria that came over them. 

The old lady who lived in the apartment below thumped a broom on her ceiling to let them know to quiet down. No mind was paid. 

"Ok. Ok. Count of three" Jay grasped the handle firmly with both hands and Mike followed suit. "One! Tw- WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?!" And giggles seized Jay once again. 

"I'm not doing anything! I'm helping! I'M HELPFUL!"

"No. Yeah. Ok. Ok. Count of three."

"You said that already!"

"I mean it this time!"

"You sure I'm not going to look at you again, Jay?" Mike chided, eyebrows wagging. Jay snickered into his shirt collar.

"Ok. Ok. STOP IT! Ok. One. Two. THREE!" 

The bed sprung loose and the two men toppled onto it. Which is to say, Mike toppled onto it. Jay toppled onto Mike. 

Jay giggled into Mike's chest high and weedy, while Mike guffawed big and round like he was packing it in barrels. What a mess the two of them made! Not just of the apartment but of each other. Mike felt like swimming, like he was adrift in the sea on his back without a care in the world. His ocean was full of beer. The tide would carry him, and there was no need to fret over where it may take him. 

“You ever get stuck in a bean bag chair?” mumbled Jay, into Mike’s chest.

“Whut?” said Mike.

Jay didn’t answer, not with words. He sighed deeply and melted - like butter over a hot roll.

Mike felt great. Mike felt relaxed and jovial and happy. He pondered for a moment about what Jay must feel like. He looked down at Jay resting warmly on his chest, whose giggles had become quieter and paced. He looked happy, and at ease. Jay, Mike thought with his hand on his back, Jay felt… Jay felt… Jay felt good. 

And it wasn't as funny anymore. 

Mike flexed his hand, and felt Jay's ribs through his t-shirt. He ran the hand up Jay's back and halted between the shoulder blades, realizing he was being weird. Caressing friends is a weird friend thing to do. 

In answer, Jay signed deeply like he was finding his breath's rhythm again and stroked his two forefingers and a thumb along Mike's collar bone, letting his knuckles brush up on his jaw. Jay watched Mike's reaction carefully, his jaw at rest and breath measured. 

Mike ran his hand back down Jay's spine, sighing into his hair. Jay shivered and stroked his hand against Mike's neck, and snaked his other arm down around Mike's side. 

"'S nice.” Jay snuggled down. Mike nuzzled his face into Jay's hair and rubbed his hand back up Jay's back. Jay's shirt caught on Mike's fingertips, and when Mike brought his other hand up to Jay's waist, he found bare flesh there. 

Jay made a short little sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Jay felt good. Jay felt heavy. Mike's dick felt heavy. This was a bad idea, but he didn't want to move. 

Jay moved. Not off of him, just adjusted himself. He ran a hand along Mike's side. Mike tried to adjust himself too. With where they were aligned, if Mike became any more erect, Jay would know. When he (carefully, very carefully) shifted Jay a little to the left to prevent this from happening, Jay made a small sound of protest. Mike soon knew why he objected to the new angle. 

Jay was hard.

Jay stilled, hiding in Mike's shirt. The room was quiet. The old lady's grandfather clock chimed below. A car rushed past on the street outside. And, as mentioned before, Jay was hard. And time was stiffened with him.

Mike swallowed deep, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. After a slow exhale, Mike tented his knee up to position Jay back near where he was, and gave a slight squeeze to the bare waist in Mike's hand. He knew he could feel it now. It was only fair. 

The denim of his jeans rustled, but everything else was quiet. Neither man was breathing.

Jay released tension and wrapped his hand around the back of Mike's neck. He perched himself up to find the position where both of them met. Upon connection, Mike exhaled and ground his hips, and Jay gave a grind right back. They found a rhythm together that suited both of them. The heat was building, and through jeans there was nowhere for it to go. 

This was certainly a bad idea, but neither stopped. Neither uttered a word. Once someone starts talking, there was a chance someone was going to say something really stupid. Stupid like "are you sure?" or "you're too drunk" or "I really care about you" or "I don't want anything to change between us.'' The usual stupid shit healthy, mindful people say before engaging in sexual contact with their best friend. 

Dry humping wasn't something that Mike had used in his arsenal since his teenage years, when there was still hesitation to cross certain lines. He didn't think on that much longer, and let the hand at Jay's waist find the way inside of his waistband. The containment was becoming uncomfortable. Jay reached down between them and palmed at the bulges there. When Mike let out a low moan (the first sound he'd made since he'd stopped laughing) against his will, Jay's head snapped up to briefly smile at Mike - just to kick his heart in the teeth - before returning to work buttons loose.

Mike sucked in a breath. It's true they had crossed the line of plausible deniability some time ago, but this line seemed bigger. Thicker. Turgid. In Jay's hand.

Jesus.

Jay paused, staring down. Mike couldn't see his expression, and wondered if this was approval or trepidation… and then decided he didn't want to ask, didn't want an answer, and didn't want the moment to linger any longer. Mike seized Jay's fly with clumsy hands. It was only fair, the fucker - if Jay gets to see Mike’s, Mike gets to see Jay’s. Jay snapped out of his reverie and reached to help, since Mike was having trouble. 

In his tipsy-ness, Jay teetered over into his back, head thumping on the mattress, with Mike following to roll on top of him. They found each other's eyes first. Jay looked up at Mike and licked his lips, but Mike set back to work. 

Mike tries not to feel self conscious about his hands shaking, knowing he just has to get past the fly on Jay's jeans and fine motor skills won't matter. He can feel Jay's eyes on him. Jay runs his hands up Mike's forearm, braces himself just above the elbow when Mike yanks Jay's pants down high on his thigh - his flannel shrouded bulge on full display. They were the sort of comfortable cotton, soft, tartan boxers you wear when you're certain no one else will see them. Mike wants to nuzzle his face in them. 

Instead, he ruts across its with his own loosened cock. Jay matched the pace set, moving his hips like a wave in the sea. He meandered his hands back down Mike's arms, finding his own waistband, and freeing his dick from all flimsy flannel confinement. 

He felt it. Mike felt it, he held it, he caressed it - another man's dick. _Jay's_ dick. All this had a feeling of "you're not supposed to" about it. It was as if any second Mike would get in trouble, someone would tell him no.

But instead Jay was sighing beneath him like he was doing everything right, and stroking Mike's cock with what appeared to be some sort of amazement. Mike thought of the lube he had in his bedroom that would make this whole jerk-off thing go so much smoother. And he also thought of the jerk off lotion he _normally_ kept in the living room end table but had been oscillating between being bathroom jerk-off lotion and living room jerk-off lotion. Right now it was woefully bathroom jerk-off lotion. Too far away. If Mike got up to get it, there was a chance Jay might not not stay. If Mike didn't have him pinned down on the pullout mattress, he might just float away. He could see it like a vivid nightmare: he would come back from the bathroom with jerk-off lotion in one hand, disappointment in the other, and Jay standing at the front door fully clothed with his hat and coat on (and an umbrella, for some reason, in this inner visualization), saying "well thank you for the lovely not-gay time and the not-gay beer and not-gay motion picture. No homo. Byeeee" and then the door would open and he'd drift away like a sexually frustrating Mary Poppins.

So no. He couldn't just get up and walk the ten steps to get the jerk-off lotion, thank you very much. Disastrous things could happen! Instead, Mike lifted his hand to his mouth and gave a good, hearty spit into it. Jay bit his bottom lip approvingly, and then duplicated the gesture. His eyes were just glowing. This was lube the old fashioned way - lube the same way the Founding Fathers jerked each other off before signing the Declaration of Independence. Mike gave a second spit into his palm for good measure.

Mike grasped his saliva-slicked hand around Jay’s dick, and stroked him together with his own. Jay flattened down against the mattress and stretched open at his shoulders - his chest. He rolled his hips but his jeans got in the way, wedged still too high on his hip. Jay hitched his breathing and struggled to free himself from his blue jean confinement. Never one to stand Jay struggle to do anything, Mike unhanded the dicks between them (despite a soft, muted protest from Jay), and reached to yank his jeans off for him. Jay spit in his hand and continued where Mike had left off - grabbing the both of them and keeping pace. It was very wonderfully distracting. 

Much like the pullout bed, Jay’s jeans were proving to be just as difficult as Jay’s initial struggle would attest. His right jean pant leg was caught on his right converse sneaker, but Mike was determined. Jay’s hand, and his cock against his own, were distracting, but he reached backwards and tugged on the laces - on the knot - focused on getting the shoe off. The knot pulled tighter. Jay stroked faster, spitting into his other hand before switching sides. When the knot held tight, Mike grabbed the shoe at the base and bit the knot with his teeth.

Jay gasped.

Mike pulled the laces loose in his incisors. He yanked the shoe off, chucked it behind him, and finally freed Jay’s right leg from his pants. 

Mike spit in his hand one last time, ready to return to work. He grasped himself with Jay together. And then he found Jay’s eyes.

“Fuck,” said Jay - and he was gone. With his leg freed he opened himself greater to Mike - panting, thrusting, one hand tugging at the mattress sheet and the other pulling at the nape of Mike's neck. Jay was close, Mike could tell. His movements were erratic and arrhythmic. Mike released his own erection to focus on Jay's. 

"N-n-" Jay stuttered out and in three quick flicks of Mike's wrist he was coming in an exhale of what mostly contained vowels. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth wretched open. 

Mike wanted to kiss him, but decided that would be super weird. Kissing is a weird friend thing to do. 

When Jay opens his eyes, he has the dopiest half-grin wiped across his face. His hair mussed, his breathing trying to find pace… he's properly debauched. He's looking at Mike like… like… well to be honest Mike didn't know what that look was, or what to do with it. 

Mike looked down at the dick situation. 

Mike is still hard and rigid and stoic. Jay is still hard, but twitching and spent - he'll be soft soon. They are both drizzled with the same proof of Jay's completion.

Jay looked down at the dick situation. 

"Oh," he said in an unreadable fashion. And then he gave Mike's shoulders a gentle push to cue Mike to roll off of him. Mike did, feeling small, once again frightened Jay will float away like a sexually frustrating Mary Poppins. But instead Jay whispered "I need my arms" and sets to work. 

Jay lifted the cum from himself and laid it onto Mike's straining cock. It felt luxurious. Jay curled his fingers around Mike's base, using the heel of his hand for strength and the cum for dexterity. His hand looked dainty in comparison. In his vigor his sweater sleeve rolled down low around his wrist, but Mike rolled it back up for him. 

He was beginning to get self conscious about how long he's taking to cum. He cursed the booze in his blood and wished condolences to Jay's forearm. Mike tried to bring himself back to present, to focus on the sensations in the here and now. He focused on the feel of Jay's slick cum and Jay's pressure and his breathing and his sweet scent and his voice as he breaks the silence and spoke: 

"Do you, like - um.” His breath hitched. “Do you need me to suck you off?" Says Jay, in real actual life. The words were too much, hit like a tsunami. Ready or not, Mike's orgasm barreled through him like a storm. 

The climate left behind was muggy. Mike hid his face in the sheets.

The after drew in like fog. The noticeable senses slid to the left and sauntered clumsily over. Where there was peaked flesh, now they were sticky. Where there was a fevered high, now a slow realization. Where there was thrashing of breath, now there was a hesitant rustle of blanket as each man tried to find their comfortable place. They would find it a difficult task tonight, but they could hardly blame the mattress. Mike watched Jay wipe himself with the couch-side tissues and lay back down - on his side, facing Mike. Their eyes locked for only a moment before Jay closed his eyes, asleep. Mike did not fuss about it, but spent a long time watching the ceiling. He had never felt so sober, so still. 

At a quarter past two Jay's breathing changed, making Mike assume Jay had not been asleep before at all, but had instead not wanted to deal with the terrible talking parts of intimacy. Who could blame him? But now he was truly asleep, and Mike had no desire to disturb him, he carefully and quietly left the sofa bed, and Jay in it, and found his own room. 

It still took a long time for Mike to fall asleep. Even his own bed didn’t feel quite right.

In the morning, Mike spent a lot of time looking at the ceiling again, and listening. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the next room, water running through the pipes in the wall, a grandfather clock in the apartment below, some stupid fucking dog yapping outside… he couldn't hear who he was listening for. When he finally got up, he didn't see who he was looking for either. Those signature black converse were gone, and the sofa bed was put away and blankets folded. Mike prepared for work alone. 

-

When Mike came into Lightning Fast VCR Repair, Jay was already there. Doing what is a mystery. They hadn’t had a customer since… well… since the last Disney live action remake. But he looked busy. They were both good at looking busy.

“You’re here early,” said Mike - like he didn’t give a shit.

“Yeah… I figured I’d get started on inventory,” said Jay - like he didn’t know that Mike gave a shit. “You know we have four copies of Ewok Adventure: Caravan of Courage?”

“Is that the one were the Ewoks eat those children?”

“God I hope so.”

The day tried very, very hard to proceed as normal. Apart from the overall choking stagnation of any empty shop, it failed on three accounts. 

The first failure happened just after Jay bumped into him while trying to get to the toilet. Get this: he said _sorry_. Sorry for essentially nothing. Sorry like a goddamn Quaker Canadian. Not much set Mike off like good manners, strewn needlessly where they didn’t belong. Jay never apologized to him - for nothing at no time. But now he had. And wasn’t that just more awkward than a best friend handjob. 

"You think you're better than me?! You FUCK!" shouted Mike across the shop. Jay didn't answer, but made a face like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not and scampered awkwardly away - which soured Mike more. Mike scowled, for no one’s benefit but his own.

So that was awful number one.

Awful number two happened at 1:45pm not too long after the _sorry_ incident - so Mike was still on edge. A customer walked in. A customer who was petite and cute with a heart-shaped face and big, curly hair and stupid tits Mike hated.

“What do you want?” bellowed Mike.  
“How can I help you?” Chimed Jay, at the same time as Mike.

“Yeah…” said terrible Tits McGee, looking from Jay to Mike to Jay again. “My VCR is broken. It ate two of my tapes and I figure I should bring it in before it claims a third.” She dug a VCR out of an old IKEA bag and clunked it onto the counter. Mike performed very extremely important business on the computer and tried to ignore her. “I would just buy another one but they don’t make them anymore. And I’ve had terrible luck with Ebay lately.”

“Oh yeah?” said Jay as he popped the front panel of the Panasonic. At least he didn't seem really interested in what she had to say.

“Yeah. There’s a few movies that are only available on VHS. And some people will send you homemade copies of tapes instead of the actual copy,” she prattled on.

“That sucks.” Jay was trying to wedge-out the dearly departed tape inside.

“You look like a baby,” said Mike - to the girl.

“I’m 33,” said the grown ass woman.

“Oh,” said Mike, “so your eggs are probably all shriveled up now, huh?”

“Pardon?” asked the respectable lady who's fertility is none of some knuckle-dragging mouth-breather's goddamn business.

“Mike!” warned Jay, in a very loud whisper. This pissed Mike off more. 

“Umm… well…” she looked at Mike quizzically then turned back to Jay. “Will you be able to fix it?”

“Sure. These old Panasonic's pull this shit all the time. May take a day or two to - wait. Hold on… Is this…?” Jay pulled out a shredded up tape out of the VCR. “Spasms! You a William Fruet fan?”

“Mostly just his old stuff” she giggled sluttily. Jay lit up at this - also sluttily. Mike glowered in a very non-sexual way. He loudly and angrily hammered on the keyboard. This greatly confused the minesweeper program that was running at the time. Jay noticed Mike’s pouting, clearing his throat. 

"Oh. Um. So. We can give you a call when it's done…" offered Jay. 

"You going to take my information? My name is Lindsay."

"Lindsay. Yeah. Mike, you wanna enter her information? Since you're on the computer?" Mike banged the keyboard harder, and with more passive aggression. Minesweeper put up the word "WHY" in little bombs. 

"Entered," Mike lied. 

"Or I could just…" Jay reached for the computer, but Mike punched the keys in heightened fever, staying steadfast and immovable in his seat. The more Jay tried to maneuver around him, the rougher he was on the keys. Minesweeper flashed up these words in quick succession: "WHAT", "UGH", "PLEASE", "HARDER", "DADDY".

"No ok I'll just find a piece of paper…" Jay turned in his seat left and right only to find that the counter was regrettably de-cluttered.

"Here. I got it." Lindsay pulled a sharpie from her purse, took Jay's right hand in her left, and proceeded to write her name and number on his palm. Mike had fucked those hands, and now some street poodle with an IKEA bag comes in and scribbles on them. She briefly blew the ink for it to dry. Jay watched her, looking a little pleasantly dumbstruck. It was terrible. "There. Now you can call me." 

Mike pressed his hands into the keyboard so hard his fingertips turned white. 

"^_^", displayed Minesweeper. And all the low-bit bombs blew up. 

Lindsay exited the store, pursued by the daggers Mike was glaring. Jay looked down at his hand, not saying anything. Mike made sure she was gone, and then looked at Jay. Jay was not looking at Mike. Mike kept looking at Jay, but Jay kept not looking back at Mike. He was looking at the stupid fucking writing on his hand. 

Mike pulled a drill from beneath the counter top and ran it into the center of the Panasonic VHS player until the drill stalled out. Then he pulled it out and ran it through again. And again. Jay held the VHS front plate in one hand and Lindsay's number in the other. 

“Mike?” Jay watched the drill smoke and sputter, Mike did not answer him. “Mike!” he tried again, but the drill persisted. It smelled like burning. 

"MIKE!" shouted Jay. The VCR spun on the drill bit and flew off the counter.

“WHAT?!” barked Mike. Jay took a deep, concentrated breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Heh," Mike laughed in short little spurts. He aimed for "carefree" and landed somewhere in the realm of "insane". "Why wouldn't I be ok? I'm ok. You're ok. Everything is okay. Why wouldn't I be ok?" Jay looked down at his hands to ponder this: back and forth from that woman’s number in one hand and the VCR faceplate in the other. 

"Right. Alright…" he chewed the inside of his cheek. He rubbed his beard with his unscribbled hand. He vented his shirt. Then he decided on the words: "Do you want to come to my place tonight?" Jay sounded genuinely curious. Like he was trying to diagnose an illness rather than make an offer of blow job hospitality. 

"What? Why? What?" Mike heard Jay, but all his words seemed all out of order. "What?"

"If you want, since I was at your place yesterday. You can crash there. If you want. Like I did, at yours?"

"Oh," Mike dropped the drill. It clanged loudly. "ok."

"Yeah? Only if you want…"

"Yeah. Yes. I'll be there."

"Cool. Eight? I have stuff…"

"Eight's good."

"Good."

"Cool."

"Mn."

And that was the third weird, awful thing. Mike had kinda-maybe been asked on a date by his best friend. He had kinda-maybe accepted. Terrible. The worst thing to happen to anyone in the history of the world. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand, on the 28th of June 1914, would have traded days with Mike. Any normalcy his day could have had was ripped asunder.

Mike wanted his drill back, but it lived on the ground now. 

-

Mike went home by himself first. He was ninety percent sure he knew what Jay meant by "crash at my place", but the other ten percent was a wad of anxiety. Because he didn't _know_ . Jay didn't say, "come over at eight, we'll drink beers and suck cock". He said "crash at my place, if you want". He could mean watch movies, get drunk, fall asleep platonically like we used to. It probably didn't, given the penis of yesterday's events, but it _could._ It was the _could_ that split him in twain and gave him tummy bumbles. 

And it's not like Mike could just _talk_ to Jay and ask. Send him a text, or an email, or call him on the phone, or talk to him in person at work where they were alone for hours and hours a day. Or DM him on twitter, Facebook, snapchat, tumblr, Instagram, Myspace, tiktok, LinkedIn, Altavista, or Neopets. No, there were not any adequate venues of communication- not a single one. Tragic. Mike was of course doomed to wander in the dark uncertainty. He didn't know what to expect, and he didn't know what Jay expected. 

Even if Mike was 100% sure that they were going to swap blow jobs that night, that guarantee didn’t ease his tension either. The day had been awful. Jay had been super weird all day, and Mike hadn’t known how to act around him. What if this was a monkey’s paw situation where he can trade wonderfully, fulfilling orgasms with someone he’s had he-doesn’t-want-to-count-how-many shame wanks about but as a price paid he can never laugh with his best friend ever, ever again.

Gods.

Mike was still going to choose to get his dick sucked, wasn’t he? God damn it. He was a mess.

Mike knew Jay had tried to date a few guys after the wedding to Mr. Plinkett was called off. Seems none of them had really panned out. He didn't talk about them, really. This was not unusual, as Jay had never had anyone around for very long in all the time Mike had known him. And they never really talked about any relationship stuff - especially not Jay. Now Mike wished they had, so he might know what Jay was expecting. 

For dinner Mike had leftover spaghetti, but then he felt self-conscious about the amount of garlic in the red sauce. Mike brushed his teeth vigorously after. Would they be kissing? They didn't kiss last night. There probably wouldn't be kissing. 

Mike also flossed. He didn’t own any mouthwash.

Mike watched himself in the mirror. He had never sucked cock before. He tested his own gag reflex with his toothbrush, spit up into the sink, and felt kinda stupid for trying it. It couldn't be that difficult, deepthroating not required. The receiving end feels pretty good regardless. With women he took a lot of pride in perfecting technique but it was probably easier with guys, right? His one-sided experience told him that the biggest factor between good head and bad head was enthusiasm. Actual technique wasn't rocket science. You put the dick in and you… like… slather it?

Um. 

He punched "how to suck cock" into the internet, and porn came up. He punched in "how to have gay sex," and porn came up. He punched in "how to know if your best friend wants your dick," and porn came up. 

He took a shower. 

After he sat on the edge of the bed feeling like his stomach was full of bumblebees and dog shit. He did that for a while. And then he flopped into his back and felt the same. He did that for a while, too. He pulled out his phone and typed out a text to Jay: "sorry to cancel. died." He didn't send it.

Jay hadn’t texted him, either. He must not be as nervous as Mike was. He rolled onto his stomach and grumbled into his comforter.

Then put on pants, and packed a duffel bag, and grabbed a six pack of Spotted Cow from the fridge, and then it was a quarter to eight, and time to go. Go crash at Jay's place...

Mike was 85% sure he knew what that meant. 

-

Jay opened the door narrow at first, and then wide. 

"Oh, it's you!" he said. 

"Yeah of course it's me. I was invited, wasn't I?" Mike stepped into his apartment, handing the six pack of beer to Jay's chest. 

"You knocked on the door. You never knock." Jay went to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge, bringing back out two. Jay handed Mike a beer. Lindsay's number was gone.

"Yeah well. Felt like it."

"You're on time. You're never on time."

"I'm on time sometimes."

"Nope. Literally never."

"I had nothing better to do."

"Are you wearing cologne?"

"Ok I get it! I'm on time… and I'm… uh… whatever." Mike put one hand in his pocket and pressed the bottle to his lips with the other. Jay smirked just a little - the smug shit, and Mike barked back: "I'm not being weird!" much the same way un-weird people do. The cap was still on the beer when Mike attempted to take a sip, Jay didn't call attention to this. 

"Well you smell nice anyway," said Jay, almost too quick for Mike to catch it. Jay took a sip of beer before turning towards the television and continuing, "I have a few movies in mind. I know you're not as big of a horror guy as me but… that's… most of what I have." Jay looked back at Mike apologetically. Mike had removed the bottle cap while Jay was turned around, hoping he didn't notice. "I have other movies but none that you haven't seen. So… if there's nothing you want to rewatch I was thinking we could watch this one?" Jay held up a blu ray called "Plague of Locusts" with a bad airbrush painting of a giant insect, a blonde, and a crucifix. It looked like something a past-his-prime Metalhead would have painted on the side of his windowless van. "Less straight horror and more of a monster movie.” Jay looked sheepish. “I guess it's kinda the same thing… But you get to watch catholic school girls bludgeon a centipede with a statue of St. Lucia. She's the patron saint of judgmental statues."

"Yeah ok. I'll watch that." Mike didn't know why Jay was making such a big deal. Half the time Mike had come over and asked what they were watching only for Jay to tell him that it's starting and to shush up without divulging the film’s title - Mike’s opinion on the selection not needed. He watched Jay's weird sex horror shit all the time and only sometimes complained. Ok he complained all the time, but it never fucking mattered before. He tossed the duffle on the floor and plopped on the couch. Jay messed with the blu ray player for a bit and sat on the couch gingerly.

Way too gingerly. Suspiciously gingerly. 

"What's wrong with you? You pull a muscle? Why are you sitting like that?" Mike interrogated.

"What? No. Nothing. I'm fine."

"You just sat down like an old pregnant woman."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Old women don't get pregnant," and then, before Mike could question further, "Shush. It's starting." Those last three words were more familiar to Mike, so he liked them.

The suicide blonde on the cover wasn't in the movie, unsurprisingly - they never are. It turned out to be less weird sex horror shit and more giant bug puppet slathered in Astroglide. It starred two main nuns: Sister Marella who played guitar and sang songs and told the children to believe in themselves, and Sister DeLoncré who was old and crotchety and smoked a tobacco pipe and definitely nipped the communion wine. Sister DeLoncré had a French accent that was never explained. Then it's revealed Sister Marella is just a bug alien in a skin suit and all the catholic school girls have to rely on their ingenuity to survive. Sister DeLoncré trains them in tactical combat, while still being a callous, pipe-smoking, French bitch. 

Both Mike and Jay stayed on their respective couch cushions, feeling very aware of where their bodies were in space. Mike was 80% sure he knew what "crash at my place meant." He made a conscious effort to stick to the one beer, just in case. He didn't want to repeat the performance issue of last night, even though he still didn't know if anything was even going to happen. They hadn't even touched each other yet. He was sure last night the two of them were more relaxed about casual touch - even before the sofa bed incident. Jay would nudge Mike's shoulder when a good part was coming up, as if Mike wasn't already watching the movie. Or Mike would stretch out and Jay would be there. Or they would just kinda… brush up together, and it was fine. But tonight they stayed very separate. 

Just as the movie was winding down (the first plan to defeat the insect invasion had gone south, leading to the tragic death of Rosemary the funny one, and now they were rallied together and about to follow through with their second plan), Jay got up. 

"I gotta pee."

"The movie’s almost over."

"Sorry. I'll just be a second."

"Do you want me to pause it?"

"Ye- no. That's alright. I've seen this one already." And he scuttled off to the bathroom. 

"Weird," muttered Mike to himself after Jay had left. "This is weird. He always watches the end of movies." Mike peeled the label off of his beer and felt alone. He watched the light under the bathroom door almost as much as the movie. Jay took awhile in there. The movie ended when the elderly nun Sister DeLoncré shot the giant lubed up bug monster with an Uzi, causing a green splatter to douse the nearby screaming catholic school girls, to which Sister DeLoncré to said: "peace be with you" while lighting her tobacco pipe with a match. Mike snorted at the line, but thought the light and smoke of the pipe looked cool in the frame. The camera panned down to the convent's basement to see rows and rows of insect pods. "Of… course," said Mike, to no one. 

Jay came back into the room just as the credits started to roll, holding a laundry basket of clean clothes.

"You think the old bitch nun is the bad guy because she's mean, but it turns out that she's just mean because she cares. And then she rips a giant centipede open with a buck knife while Mary-Helen, Anne-Elizabeth, and Gabby go ham on the thing with croquet mallets," explained Mike, like Jay hadn't seen it before. It was still unsettling that Jay left for the end, so Mike felt the need to fill him in. 

"I was here for the croquet mallet slaughter, remember? But Sister Deloncré is a badass."

"Huh."

"You know the Pope called this movie 'not grossly harmful to the ministry of Christ'? The seventies sure were a different time." Jay up-ended the laundry basket onto the couch, clothes toppled everywhere. 

"Jay. What are you doing." It wasn't even really a question. Just an expression of confusion. 

"Laundry's done. I'll fold it later." Jay looked at the sofa covered in clothes. He put his hands on his hips and nodded twice, satisfied for some reason. "Well. Time for bed. C'mon." They had only watched one movie. It wasn't even ten o'clock. He turned and walked to the bedroom, looking over his shoulder once to make sure Mike was following. It was cute, he was cute. Shit.

Mike was 90% sure he knew what this meant. 

He followed. His mouth felt dry. He almost forgot his duffel bag. 

Jay's room was cleared out. The bed was made. The dresser top was clear. The two nightstands had on them only a lamp and a glass of water each. The glasses of water were both on their respective coasters. Vacuum lines on the carpet indicated that this was a recent deep clean. Like a hospital. Mike wondered how comfortable it would be to sleep in a pile of clean couch laundry. 

Jay removed his clothes down to an undershirt and a pair of boxers. Mike watched him out of the corner of his eye, both to be careful to not outperform Jay's state of undress, and because he hadn't really got to see Jay very well last night. He wanted to see. 

"Well," said Jay. They looked at each other. Mike felt there was something he should do or say, but also felt he had not had enough beer to make any of those options easy. He was more used to not caring if the other person stuck around or not. Mike preferred if they did, of course, it saved him the trouble of finding someone else. But he wasn't going to lose sleep over it. He'd already lost sleep over Jay. Mike couldn’t lose Jay - it wasn’t an option, and wasn’t a reality Mike wanted to face even in hypotheticals. Mike stood facing him in his t-shirt and shorts, not sure what to do with anything below his elbows. "Good night!" said Jay, and he turned off the lights and crawled into bed. It was very dark.

Mike found the edge of the bed with his knees, patted for the mouth of blankets at the top, and climbed in. Mike looked up at the ceiling for a long time. It was very dark. Sometimes a car would drive past outside and a beam through the curtain and onto the ceiling would pulse and glow and then die out. Jay was very still beside him, but he could tell from yesterday that he was not yet asleep. 

Mike was 40% sure he knew what "crash at my place" meant. 

Jay's blankets rustled, and the weight distribution on the mattress altered as Jay rolled to face him. Mike responded by rolling over too. Because he was facing the window, Jay was backlit. Mike could only see the outline of Jay's hair, ear, and shoulder. Mike wondered if Jay had a better view of his face. No, he knew that. Mike knew how lighting worked. Jay could see everything of him and he could see nothing of Jay. Another car passed and the headlight glow pulsed through the curtains. Mike shielded his face and eyes with his hand, but felt Jay reach up to move it. Mike still couldn't see. 

Mike let his hand rest down on the sheet. Jay's hand stayed up on his cheek, thumb stroking just under his eye.

Caressing your friend is a weird friend thing to do. Mike knew it was starting.

He reached out his hand to try and find Jay, even though he couldn't see him. His fingertips brushed across Jay's chest. Finding Jay, he found Jay's back and steadied his palm there, as if to say "here. Please. Move closer."

And Jay did. And Mike inched closer in return. 

Jay wasted no time in moving his hands along Mike's stomach, his side. Mike could hear him breathing. He couldn't see a damned thing in the dark, but he knew where his mouth was. He could hear it. Mike ran his hand up the backside of Jay, going under the shirt. 

It was exactly like yesterday, but faster. The hesitancy was gone. They both knew where they were going and how to get there - no reason to doddle. 

Mike swallowed hard.

Jay slid his hands under Mike’s shirt, up his stomach, along his chest. Jay wanted the shirt off, Mike could tell. It was being bunched up around his armpits, his collarbone. Mike raised his arms, feeling secure in the dark, letting Jay strip the shirt away. 

Mike cued Jay in the same manner, and Jay acquiesced without hesitation. 

The boxers came off - quickly. Mike can’t remember exactly how. They were there one moment and gone the next - like a magic trick. 

And for his next trick, Jay’s hand was on Mike’s dick. Mike kneeled into the grasp deeper, forgetting for a moment that he should be returning the favor. It felt wonderful. Mike groaned, and Jay nuzzled. He could feel him smiling. 

Mike reached down for his share to find it stiff and wanting for him. He thought about his earlier research on the internet. He wanted to prove that he knew what he was doing, but he really didn’t. He wanted to prove that he was not nervous, but he really was. He wanted to offer Jay a blow job, but before he can Jay turned around behind himself to open a drawer in the nightstand table. 

Mike heard the click of a lid and the squirt of lube. Jay runs it along Mike’s length and Mike returns the favor.

“Its good,” says Mike.

“Yeah,” says Jay. Mike feels a little foolish for speaking. So its going to be handjobs then? Mike could manage handjobs. He’s done this one before. Lots of times - if he counts himself. Handjobs are great - fantastic. He relaxed into the feel of slickness, of firmness, of caress. Touching Jay was just … perfect. There's a profane reverence to it. And Jay touching him back is - 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Jay asked. Mike short circuited for a second. He almost asked if he’s just trying to make a Silence of the Lambs reference. That can’t be right though. They are laying in bed together, jacking each other off. And Jay would know the actual phrasing from the movie. So.

“Mike? We don’t have t-”

“Yeah. I do. Want to I mean. I know we don’t have to. Want to.”

“Ok. Me too.”

They were both still. They knew fucking means someone has to start moving but neither moved yet.

“Do I - with the girls I mean. You’re supposed to-” Mike reached his hand around Jay’s backside so that he could catch his meaning without having to say it.

“I took care of it,” Jay stated curtly.

“What do you mean you took care of it?” snickered Mike, mostly out of nervousness. 

“I mean I took care of it.” Jay was not humored.

“Did you...?”

“Mike!”

“Ok… alright... if you insist.” Mike repositioned himself over Jay, rustling the blankets as he went. “I guess I’ll just. Um.” Jay looked up at him, then avoided eye contact, scratched his nose and squirmed in place. It's funny how even on top of a person, a person can still feel vulnerable. Mike certainly did - like stage fright. And he was overcome with the need to see what he was doing, so that he didn’t fuck this up. 

Mike turned on the bed side table lamp. Jay flinched against it like a vampire. Mike wasn’t so sure he liked it that much either, but he made a choice and he was going to commit to it.

Jay’s shoulders were tense up against his neck, brows furrowed against the invading brightness.

Mike ran his hands down Jay’s side as he lowered himself into position. He ran more lube over his dick - more lube was always a good thing. The excess left on his hand he slung down and wedged in the crease of Jay's ass. He could feel that he had prepared himself. He was spongy, tender. On contact, Jay made a small sound of protest. 

"Just putting the extra where I think it will be needed most," explained Mike, withdrawing his hand. He couldn't fathom why Jay would be all gung-ho about getting a dick inside there but fluttery about the idea of fingers. Mike leaned back into position to consider this. He wasn't going to stop to have a conversation about it and also wasn't about to shove a piece of his body where it wasn't wanted. He stroked himself, watching Jay. 

“Ready?” Mike wanted Jay to be sure. This all felt to Mike like they were skipping one, two, or several steps. 

He nudged himself against Jay’s entrance. Jay gasped, Mike agreed.

“Yes,” Jay huffed, annoyed. Mike sure as hell wasn’t going to negotiate against himself. He lined up, he stroked into him - trying to keep a shallow depth, but the blunt end had found its mark.

“Oh! Je-sus CHRIST!” 

“You good?” Jay felt amazing. Mike only hoped Jay felt the same way about his position.

“Mmn.”

“You’re doing so well, Jay.”

“Oh don’t you-” Jay grunted, rolling out his shoulders and shaking his head back and forth. 

“Don’t what?”

“-PATRONIZE me!” Mike could feel Jay trying not to laugh around himself. Laughing like of course… of course this was how this was going. Laughing like he was still a little nervous - or a lot of nervous. Mike reached down and stroked Jay’s hair between his fingers. 

“Hey,” whispered Mike, catching Jay’s eye contact at last. “Hey. I got you. I got you.” 

Jay calmed, relaxed. He put his hand on the back of Mike's wrist and gingerly held it there. Jay exhaled like a locomotive shutting down for the night. Jay let his body loose and jelly. Jay looked into Mike’s eyes like they hadn’t just been avoiding each other's eye line all day - like looking into each other's eyes was the most natural thing in the world. Jay trusted, Mike could tell. It was the best complement Mike had ever been paid. 

Jay nodded small, first. Then, in a bigger gesture, Jay reached up and threw his arms around Mike’s neck, pulling him down close. Jay slid his hands down: around the back of Mike’s neck, below his ears, along his jaw. Mike nudged his nose to Jay’s. Jay brought their mouths together in their first ever kiss.

Jay was in complete control of his aspect of their love-making, guiding Mike’s jaw and encouraging his mouth open with his own. In a surprising turn of events given how they were positioned, Mike completely surrendered to _him_ , at complete beck and call of the tongue caressing his own. He was used to being the one in control of kissing, but letting Jay take the lead was pleasant and heady. It made Mike feel desired, secure. All Mike could do was sink into him, right down to the bottom.

“You good?” whispered Jay.

“Ye- yeah…” Mike kissed him again. He felt like floating.

“Good.” said Jay. And he gave Mike a little swat (barely above a tap, Jay would assert later) on the ass and said: “fuck me.”

Mike rolled his hips without really considering it - just responding to the needy gnome demands beneath him. Let’s not confuse an automatic response with an objectionable one, however. Mike found and rediscovered heat within Jay with every impassioned thrust. Mike gave selfishly, burrowing his face in the crook of Jay’s neck to muffle any sound he himself may accidentally let loose. Meanwhile, Jay had no such protection from the utterances he might make. He could hide nowhere. The only way he could hide his sounds was by way of his quickly waning self-control - a self-control that was being well-fucked out of him. Mike’s ear was right up against his throat and jaw. Mike collected those sounds with greed. He took them - the moans, the groans, the pants, the whines and he archived them, categorized them: neediness, hunger, pleasure, bliss. Whether this was the first and last or the first of many, Mike would keep these wordless sounds safe forever.

Jay seemed to be making a collection of his own, mapping out Mike’s body with his finger tips. His hands lingered with purpose, moving from back to shoulder to bicep and finding no reason to rest - only to journey.

Jay could not hide his voice, Mike could not hide his body. 

Jay slid his palms along Mike’s shoulders, his neck, his hair. He eased Mike’s head up and looked into his eyes.

“Mike,” said Jay. He wanted something, he did not say what it was. But Mike took a guess.

Mike leaned up and back, still fucking. Jay reached but Mike went. Keeping eyes locked and dick lodged into place, Mike spat into the palm of his hand - viscus, carnal. Jay absolutely writhed. He splayed his legs open wider and grabbed at both sides of the pillow he was laid upon with his fists. Mike grasped down at the frustrated, achy prick beneath him. Jay gasped, mouth agage. Mike sucked his gut in, leaned over, and hocked more saliva down below. 

“Mike,” Jay repeated again. And Mike set to work. Mike fucked in determined fashion, watching, from where he was above, the flashes of expression across Jay’s face. His hand he barely had to move at all. Rather, his hips fucked Jay upwards into his firm and steady fist.

“Mike,” Jay again. “I’m gonna. I’m not gonna - I’m gonna -”

“Good.” They hadn’t been doing this for very long. Part of Mike wanted this to last forever. There was no guarantee that there would be a second time. He didn’t want to say goodbye to the sounds Jay was making or the way he was clinging or the way he was hugged tight around his cock. He didn’t want it to end, but what he needed was to know that he did well and that Jay liked being fucked by him. There was something about cum splashed between two people that's easy to trust and hard to lie about.

Something in Jay’s eye looked hurt by Mike’s response - but only for a glance and it was gone. Then Jay was reaching up, shaky, with both hands, for Mike. So Mike bent low and allowed himself to be clung to. And Mike surrendered when Jay kissed him. Mike concentrated on the present. He concentrated on what he could hear: the rustle of the sheets, the whine in Jay’s throat, the squelch of consummation. He concentrated on what he could taste: Jay mostly - the inside of his mouth, and the sweat on his upper lip. Had he been wandering around, lingering in Mike’s life so long, being so scrumptious and never offering to share? Rude of him. He concentrated on what he could see: only Jay. There may have well been nothing else in the room. He concentrated on what he could feel: the profane grasp of Jay’s hole around his cock, the hug of Jay’s arms around his shoulders, the scritch of his beard, and the shudder of Jay’s orgasm as it shook through them both and splurged into Mike’s hand. 

Mike took Jay’s orgasm like he was being released, and in exchange gave Jay all he had. It shook him and shivered him and left him boneless, brainless, and worn. When Mike came to his senses enough, he slid out and off - looking at the ceiling, breathing deep.

Jay got up beside him and went into the bathroom - without saying anything. He closed the door, ran the water.

Mike watched the ceiling.

When Jay came out he was wearing underwear gain. He tucked the lube in the drawer and laid back to look up at the ceiling, too.

Well this is bullshit, thought Mike. Someone should say something.

“When you said you ‘took care of it’-”

“Mike,” groaned Jay.

“What did you mean?” Mike was trying to be playful, teasing. 

“Buttplug.” Jay was a little too quiet in response.

Mike let out a breath of a laugh, and Jay turned sharply at him - looking slighted.

“Sorry,” murmured Mike. And he supposed he meant it. He didn’t apologize to Jay often.

“‘Salright,” Jay mumbled back. He tucked himself deep into the blankets. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Mike sighed and groaned, hefting himself off the bed, boxers in hand, and through the bathroom door - shutting it behind him. He pissed, he washed up. He put his underwear back on. He looked in the mirror for a long time. This was all going terribly wrong.

First of all, and he feels kinda shit for feeling this way but: he’s kinda mad they never got to blow jobs. He spent all day worried about and then anxious for blow jobs and then they didn't even get to it. And yes, it's kinda an entitled shit thing to think because he just emptied his dick in his best friend’s ass but Jay said offered yesterday and Mike had never sucked dick before and he’d been thinking about it a lot. Maybe he would hate sucking dick but he didn’t even get to try it and that’s kinda bullshit. But it's fine. It would be fine.

That's a really minor thing. The major thing - the big fucking deal was that his rapport with his best friend is just simply ripped asunder. Annihilated. It's all awkward and weird now. Mike tried to think of something he could do to fix the current situation. He could only come up with one aid, one social lubrication: he needed a beer.

He sulked off to the kitchen without looking at Jay as he passed through. 

Mike stood bathed in the fridge’s light for far too long. The cold almost hurt his skin, if Mike could have felt anything. He grabbed a beer and shut the door - dark again. 

This was all so stupid.

Mike didn't want to have another weird morning followed by a weird day containing a weird Jay. Mike wanted a Jay who looked at him, and wasn’t timid with him, and didn’t apologize for taking a piss. He wanted the Jay he had before there was come and dicks involved - when it was comfortable. He’d ruined it. It was ruined, and he wanted it back to how it was. It was no use to realize that now, but that was post-nut clarity for you. He’d fucked his friend and fucked up his friendship.

This was all so fucking stupid.

It wasn’t the sex’s fault. The sex was good. Great. Fantastic. _They_ were bad. They were both grown adults but they were doing this whole thing all wrong. Jay just had to quit being a fucking dip, and Mike had to keep Jay from being a fucking dip. They had made it awkward when it didn’t have to be. They could fix it. Mike could fix it. It was fixable. Mike turned, about face, and marched to the bedroom.

Both lamps were on. It was too bright. 

Jay sat on the edge of the bed with the comforter around his head and body like it was a parka. He didn’t look at Mike when he entered the room, but he squinted against the light up at the beer in Mike’s hand at least.

“Jay,” announced Mike. 

Jay looked up. 

“Jay… I was thinking. I decided. We fucked.”

“Yes.”

“And, like… so what?”

Jay looked down at the beer.

“Its sex. We had it. It was great,” Mike shrugged in a way he hoped was reassuring. 

Jay looked back up at Mike.

“But it doesn’t have to change anything, Jay.” Jay looked back down at the beer.

"Sure. Ok." Jay shrugged. 

"Ok." So… it was solved then? Good. Yes. All better. But Mike still didn't know what to do with his hands, so that probably meant it wasn't. "So." He felt like he should say something else, but couldn't grasp what. Jay was still looking down at the beer, and it was making Mike self-conscious. With Jay's eyes leveled at his midsection, Mike was heavily regretting not putting on a shirt before starting this conversation. He crossed his arms over his stomach. "Are you… are we good?"

"Yes." Jay's answer was definitive, and a little glum. 

Mike scanned his eyes around the room looking for his shirt. He walked around the other side of the bed and found it strewn upon the floor, arms out like a big hug.

“It could change things,” muttered Jay with a timid roll of a shoulder.

"What could?" Mike rolled the shirt over his head and felt heaps safer.

Jay ducked his face into his mound of comforter to scratch his nose. From where Mike was standing, he may as well disappeared altogether. 

"Jay, tell me,"Mike rounded back around the other side of the bed. He couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate to hear Jay speak. Mike watched Jay open and close his mouth, watched him make words without sound, before he spoke. 

"It's just like… like we could, it could change if -" Jay stopped and started again. He looked up at Mike this time, in the eyes, pleading. "It doesn't have to change anything, but like… it could."

“Right!” declared Mike hitting his fist into his hand, “it could change things! That’s what I’m saying!” 

“That is not what you’re saying.” And, predictably, Jay looked down at the beer.

"How is that not what I'm saying?"

Jay shrugged, his eyes downcast - at the beer.

"What I'm saying is… What I am saying is that-" Jay still wasn't breaking gaze with the booze. “JESUS CHRIST! JAY!” Jay startled, finally looking Mike in the eye again. And then Mike went on more calmly: “would you like a beer?”

“Oh,” said Jay, knitting his brows together - perplexed, “sure?”

Mike plodded off to the kitchen. This conversation was not going well. Jay wasn’t catching what Mike was throwing, and would barely say anything. Jay had looked sad, and that just confused Mike. The fuck was there to be sad about? Mike was fixing it. It had been weird and Mike was fixing it. He sighed deeply, aggressively scratching the back of his head like his thoughts were trying to escape his skull, and came back with a cold open beer.

“Why didn’t you just fucking say something?” Mike's exasperation was palatable as he handed the beer to Jay. “I brought them for you. They’re already yours. Tell me you want a beer. Instead of staring at it the whole time.”

“I didn’t know I was doing that." Jay took the beer, but didn't drink. "I didn’t know it's what I wanted until you offered it.” 

Oh. 

Oh… 

With this revelation Mike sat heavily on the edge of the bed, next to Jay, who he understood a whole lot more now. 

“I know how that feels,” said Mike. And he couldn’t pull together words to say much else for a while. Mike pondered how little he understood what he himself wanted. He thought about how this all happened way too slow and way too fast at the same time. If they had just done this years ago, this part would be over by now. They could watch movies and drink beer and play with each other's dicks and dutch oven eachother under the covers at night. But he also thought about how ill-prepared he was for it to happen once it did. He didn’t have any words ready beforehand, so now the right words weren’t coming. 

"You ever watch Mary Poppins, as a kid?" asked Mike. Jay knit his eyebrows together. 

"I'm sure I must have. That's just like a movie everyone's seen. I can't remember it though. Maybe I just absorbed it through pop culture osmosis. Does it have a weird amount of pigeons in it?" He seemed more at ease with this question. This was easier, the movie thing. 

"You know she leaves the family at the end."

"Huh. You know Beetlejuice leaves the family at the end. You ever see Beetlejuice as a kid?"

Mike smiled in a somewhat sad way, looking down at the floor. It's different. Everyone wanted Mary Poppins to stay - she was practically perfect in every way. But everyone wanted Beetlejuice to leave - he was boorish and rude and slovenly. Mike looked down at an old stain on his undershirt he hadn't noticed before. Of fucking course. He can't even casually dress up properly for a date. And then looks down lower into the fresh vacuum lines of the carpet. He feels lost in those lines. Inadequate. 

"Fuck Tim Burton man but I liked Beetlejuice. I don't think it holds up the best for rewatchability but as a kid? That bit when he brags about watching the exorcist 167 times or whatever? Yeah. It's great."

"Don't forget, he's been to Juilliard."

"And Harvard business school." Jay smiled, and then he stroked the side of his beard before continuing "I don't think I ever actually saw Mary Poppins though. Didn't really interest me as a kid."

Mike didn't understand why this made him feel better, just that it did. He swirled away a line in the carpet with his feet. 

“When I said things didn’t need to change,” he explained, “I meant things didn’t need to turn weird. You’ve been weird. Maybe I’ve been weird too."

"Mn." said Jay, side-eyeing him. 

"But it's been weird," Mike trailed off. Jay scratched his beard, and it was silent for a while.

Mike continued to scrub away carpet lines. Jay watched, his hands less tight on his blanket burrito. 

"I didn't know you were into guys," Jay was trying to clear the air of unanswered questions, Mike could tell. He didn't love this part, but he could respect it. 

"You didn't know _you_ were into guys until, like, two years ago." Mike didn't know if this was true. Jay could have known exactly who he was all this time and was just being closeted, or whatever it's called. For Mike though it was like a shell had cracked and all the flesh underneath was new and raw. He couldn't help the defensive edge. It has been a rough twenty four hours for Mike's sexual identity. He'd always taken the stance of "who cares, it doesn't matter, let people do what they're going to do, it's not a big deal." But now, standing on this side of watching the visage of his heterosexuality get ripped asunder he could feel it change to "I care, it matters, let people do what they're going to do, it's kinda a big deal." He was in the midst of it. It was a painful transition. 

"Fair," was all Jay said, and he smiled back at Mike in such a way that Mike read as pity. Mike folded his arms. He didn't like being pitied. Mike wanted to ask Jay when he knew he was gay or bi or whatever he was, but then he was afraid the answer would be Plinkett related. He also wanted to ask him how he knew he wanted to fuck Mike. When did that start? Or did he just feel a body beneath him the other night and thought 'sure, why not?' Ugh. There's a grim thought. 

It's best not to ask the question, if you don't want the answer. 

“I’m going through the same thing you are,” offered Jay. Mike turned to Jay, and Jay had turned to stare at the floor. Parka’d in his comforter, he looked small. Sure, he knew Jay was short and he still threw occasional short jokes around (though Jay didn’t rise to them like he used to), but he still managed to look surprisingly small. Smaller than expected. Now, with Jay wrapped up like an overstuffed burrito and staring forlornly at the carpet, Mike felt… he felt… ugh. Feelings are stupid. He reached into the comfo-parka and pulled out a Jay-hand, holding it in his fingers laced. The parka rustled open, exposing his shoulder and chest, and his head no longer hooded. Jay’s eyebrows went up, he looked up at Mike, and smiled a little.

“Yeah,” sighed Mike, “me too.” He didn't know what he was agreeing with, but he felt a little more agreeable anyway. He looked down at the hand in his. He tried very hard to think of things from Jay's perspective, but didn't come up with anything brilliant. So instead, he said, "we can change the things we want. We just have to know what that is." Mike hoped Jay would know the answer, because Mike had barely gotten together what the question was. 

"Well," said Jay, "what is it."

Oh fuck you, Jay. You wiley bastard. 

"Um." Mike scratched the side of his nose. "How about this. I say one thing, you say one thing. Deal?" 

"One thing of what. One thing we're keeping or one thing we're changing?" 

"One of each. One thing we're changing AND one thing we're keeping."

"So two things."

"Yes. Each say two things."

"Ok," said Jay - deep breath, "you first."

Fucking… Jay. The fuck! But Mike decided to use this to his advantage and go with the easy one: 

"I think we should continue to have sex," announced Mike, as if he was very very brave. 

Jay gawked. 

"That's not fair. Of course we're going to keep fucking. That's obvious."

"It wasn't obvious to me."

"How is that not obvious to you?" 

"Have you seen me, Jay?" asked Mike. 

"Yes Mike," Jay sighed fondly, "I've seen you."

"Well I look like a grumpy old man!" 

"You don- well if you look like a grumpy old man so do I."

"You look like a miracle and you know it. Don't lie to me."

"Don't lie to yourself! You don't think I want…?" Jay scoffed. "After everything? Mike you're very… you know. Mike when we were younger I was so mad at you. I used to think I was just jealous. Or envious. Or whatever. And it took me years to realize it was more than that. No, that actually it was almost the exact opposite. And yeah… We're both older but… I mean… I don't think about you like that. So like, shut the fuck up with shit like that, ok? Because it sucks to hear people shit over things you like when they have no goddamn reason to talk shit. And I like the way you look. Back then. And still. So yeah. I don't really want to hear you shitting over the way you look."

Mike didn't know what to say to this. It felt like he brought a too- small tray to the cafeteria and the Lunch Lady didn't know the meaning of 'say when'. He'd have to tuck the words away, and try to process them later. Mike cleared his throat.

"It's your turn," said Mike. 

"Oh fuck you! I said a lot, just now."

"Ah! But you didn't answer the question." Mike smiled in a way he hoped was charming. 

Jay huffed. 

Mike decided it was best to oblige him, just a little. 

"I also like the way you look. But that goes without saying."

"Without saying? Mmkay." It was enough feedback to let Mike know that he was going in the right direction, but hadn't arrived at the destination. 

"C'mon you know what you look like. You're a very. Handsome. Man."

Jay just looked at him. 

"And you have girl mouth." Mike felt stupid as soon as he said it. 

"Girl mouth?" Jay perked up, looking a little amused. 

"Under the beard, I mean." Mike realized it sounded stupid but was determined to explain his position on the matter. It would sound less stupid once Jay could see where he's coming from. "Guys have, like, thin boring mouths and girls' mouths are like… pink and pouty and… interesting. You have a girl mouth, Jay." 

It did not sound less stupid.

"A girl mouth? Okay. Whatever makes you feel better, Mike," chided Jay.

"That's not -" Mike felt his face go hot. He let go of Jay to cover his face with his hands. 

"Do I have a girl dick, too?" Jay goaded. 

"Oh shut up you… you…" _Dick… Prick… Asshole…_ Why are all insults named after sex parts? "Butt."

"Butt?" Jay laughed, thinking this was really funny. Truth be told, Mike thought it was pretty funny too, but he didn't want Jay to know that. 

Jay nudged Mike's shoulder with his own, and that drew the laugh out against Mike's will. Jay grinned big and wide.

Mike nudged back. It was still Jay's turn. 

"OK I said my thing you say yours. Fair's fair." Mike braced for whatever weird sex pervert things he was going to say. After the movie they watched, Mike wondered if it had to do with Catholic imagery at all. Jay would look fucking adorable in a little priest collar. Jay took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. If Mike didn't know Jay so well he might think him praying. But Jay opened back up his eyes and let out a sigh. 

“I want you to stay,” said Jay as he squared up with Mike, grasping their hands back together. He looked properly nervous, like when they were in their early twenties and Jay both wanted attention and was frightened of it constantly. “In here, with me. I want you to sleep in the bed with me. Don't go… wherever you fuck off to. I don't know. But you can stay in here with me, right?”

"I can't sleep on the clean clothes pile?" Mike was teasing, of course. 

"No Mike." Jay wasn't humored about this. The giggles from the 'girl mouth' comment weren't carrying over. This just made Mike want to prod more. 

"Is it driving you crazy that all those clothes are sitting out there… Unfolded?" 

"It's fine. I'll just run them through the dryer again for like ten minutes before folding them so they won't be wrinkly. Why do you always think…? It doesn't matter. Will you just answer my question?" 

"Which question? About sleeping in the bed with you?" 

"Yes!" 

"I snore…"

"Like I give a fuck! Mike if you don't want to -" his voice tended toward a higher octave when he was upset. It was cute. 

“Yeah that's not a problem,” agreed Mike, cutting him off. He had no problem with the idea of sleeping in the same bed with Jay. Liked the idea, even. Jay seemed relieved at the answer, but a little exasperated. 

"Jesus Christ, it's like pulling teeth with you," Jay muttered. 

"C'mon Jay," he rolled his eyes "If I'm not allowed to think you don't want to fuck me you're not allowed to think I don't want to sleep with you." 

Jay blinked at Mike, opening his mouth like he had a refute for this but then decided to swallow it. 

"OK. It's my turn now." Mike felt they were on a roll and was eager to keep momentum. 

“I like the… this…" Mike gestured to Jay's hand in his. "All the new stuff." And Mike nodded behind them to the place in the bed where the sheets were twirled from sex. "But also I want you to look at me like normal. And be normal.” Mike looked into Jay's eyes intently, hoping to display meaning. 

"Is that your thing?" Jay blinked at him. 

"Yes, that's my thing. The one thing I'm keeping."

“Um. Alright." Jay licked over his teeth in concentrated thought. "That’s… vague… but I’ll try.”

“Yeah. That’s right. You’d better.” Mike threatened. Jay looked back at him before cracking a smile, and then breaking into a huge laugh, in a way he hadn’t all day. In a way he hadn’t since they struggled getting the sofa-bed out of the sofa. Mike felt the balance returning, and he felt like he could breathe. This was how they always were. Everything was normal and regular and same until Jay, still laughing, rested his head upon Mike's shoulders. And this? This was new. Hand holding and the smell of Jay's hair and Jay relaxed against his side… New and different. But Mike liked it, and he felt Jay liked it too. He rested his face on the top of Jay's head and Jay quieted - not awkwardly, but peacefully. 

"It's your turn," said Mike. "Last one. One thing you want to keep."

Jay was quiet for a long while. Jay's hair smelt like coconut. Just as Mike was beginning to wonder if Jay had heard him, he answered. 

"You."

In response, Mike kissed him. There were no words good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The author also makes no assertions that Mike & Jay have, or have ever had, a Neopets account. Thank you.
> 
> Also thank you to my RLM shipper chat friends. You precious trash babies know who you are.


End file.
